


Conversations

by Createdforyou



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Enemies With Benefits, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, they still have sex its just they try to talk about something for once lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 09:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30104097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Createdforyou/pseuds/Createdforyou
Summary: Sander and Robbe try to "talk" for oncepart threeofone more night
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 16
Kudos: 88
Collections: one more night





	Conversations

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! okay this is going out of my comfort zone part 3 slkdfj the previous chapter (written by such talented writers ly) contain a lot of...sexual tension skdjfhs so I apologize if this chapter is not up to par haha 
> 
> [there is still sexual content but nothing explicit so tread with caution]

Walking through the campus Robbe tried not to look over his shoulder. 

He’d been going to his classes as normal but he’d deliberately taken all the longer routes, all the winding paths, and all the extra steps in the stairwells. In some cases he’d even taken the shortcuts that he knew not too many people tread. He was trying hard not to let his blood run through him, sloshing around his bones and setting him on edge. If anyone didn’t know better, they’d say he was avoiding something, or rather _someone_. 

He’d made it halfway through the day without running into him. But then, walking there in the paved pathway under the swaying trees, sunlight splashing through the leaves and falling on brightly bleached hair, Robbe had finally been met with his worst nightmare. 

Their eyes held each other for a brief second before Robbe tore his gaze away and quickly lost himself in the crowd of students. If there was anything he was good at, it was disappearing in between a crowd, his small stature helping him along the way. But it didn’t stop Sander from finding him, brushing his shoulders, black jacket on brown, as they crossed paths. It was a rough shove, almost enough to knock him over. _Subtle, Driesen._

And that's what he’d wanted to avoid all along, some strange feeling, despite falling back to regular routine, in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw him. He still didn’t know how to feel about the last interaction they’d had, Robbe falling into his bed completely out of it after being brought home, the dark concealing Sander’s face. 

_He brought you home because that’s basic fucking decency_ , thought Robbe, trying to rationalize it. _You wouldn’t be fucking him if he wasn’t at least decent._

And yet, the memories of the glass of water, the two aspirin tablets laid out for him, and a boy who’d made his heart clench at the coffee shop was long-lasting in his mind.

Shaking his head, he continued toward the library. 

It wasn’t until half an hour later when Robbe was sitting alone through the most mind-numbingly boring work for his Formation of Modern Art class, that he spotted bleached hair again from the corner of his eye. Sander had just entered the library for whatever the fuck he was doing here and Robbe had to inhale through his nose just to calm himself down. He tried to focus, but just like clockwork, Sander had eased his way across the shelves to the table he was sitting at, his jacket spreading the faint smell of leather and some cologne he didn’t know the name of. 

“You can’t escape me, you know?” his lips curved into a sly smirk. 

“That’s unfortunate because I have work to do,” Robbe sighed, turning the page of his notes. He knew that’s never stopped him before. And he knew that smirk was still stretched across Sander's face and if he could, he would definitely punch it off of him again. He could feel his eyes lingering, boring holes into him. Finally he lifted his lashes up, surprised to see the smirk gone and his green gaze on the material of his study. 

“That’s a pretty interesting course actually,” he said. “I kinda liked it.”

Right. Sander Driesen, the _artist_ , who’s probably had to take this course would have some knowledge on this subject and Robbe had almost forgotten that. He’d almost forgotten what he did, what he studied, what he dreamed to be and in reality, he didn’t know if he ever knew it from the beginning. Maybe a surface level knowledge, but the fact remained that Sander Driesen was still an enigma to Robbe. 

“What are you really here for?” he looked at him with glassy eyes and a frown that seemed somewhere near a pout. Because as much as he’d like to believe Sander Driesen was capable of a conversation, he only ever came to him for one thing and one thing only. 

He suddenly felt his fingers brush against his neck from behind him, running them delicately up to grip the strands of his dark hair, the tugging slight and sensual. _So shameless._ A flash of warmth shot through his gut. 

“What I’m always here for,” Sander replied, the smirk returning to that smug, _smug_ face of his. 

And now Robbe had enough of this. 

“Then, shut the fuck up and let’s go,” he muttered as he got up, abandoning all his work and grabbing the hem of his shirt. 

As they walked out of the library, trying to find the bathrooms on a floor that wasn’t so quiet, their heads turned casually, attempting not to look suspicious. And every so often, with each spring in their steps, they’d be just close enough that Sander's hand could brush the skin of Robbe’s pinky, sending tingles through his shoulders to his scalp. Then when Sander finally grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a stall, pushing him against one of the walls and crashing his mouth onto his, Robbe couldn’t even think of why he was evading him in the first place. 

It was electrifying and maddening the feel of his lips on his neck, biting roughly, soothing sinfully. Sander’s grip was making an absolute mess of his hair and Robbe couldn’t help slipping his fingers to his belt loops pulling him flush against him, eliciting a gasp from the two of them. He smirked wickedly for a brief moment before Sander could capture his lips again. Then he heard him let out a breathy laugh before they set to work to tarnish and mar the bathroom stall once more. 

Sander was always near him for only one thing, but see...so was Robbe. 

At least that’s what he thought.

* * *

The sound of their belts clinking echoed off the walls of the empty bathroom. 

Sander leaned back next to the paper towel dispenser, shaking his pants up to a comfortable height and zipped them up while Robbe did the same near the counter of the sinks. He watched Sander’s hair fall into his eyes, his lips in a neutral pout as he tried to get the button of his black jeans. His eyes shifted over him, deep browns assessing him and his thoughts were running before he even knew what he was doing. He was trying to look for something familiar in him. Some semblance of the person he remembered at the coffee shop.

“What?”

Just then, Robbe realized he’d been caught staring. He swiped his nose self-consciously when green eyes pierced through him with a slight curve of his lips.

“Nothing,” he said, the heat rising to his cheeks.. “Just...I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation during all this,” he took a chance in voicing the obvious. Sander looked at him, his pupils still blown from the ride and he looked like he was in a haze, drunk off of sex but indifferent to the words.

“No, we haven't. And?”

“Isn't it weird?” Robbe shrugged as he eased into his brown jacket over his faded white t-shirt, eyes never leaving him.

For some reason, he was trying to find the Sander from that night, saccharine soft and caring in ways others hadn’t been, but he didn’t find him. Instead he found rough edges and sharp cuts, broken shards of glass that could slit through someone if they got too close.

“Look,” said Sander, his eyes half-lidded and casual. “I still can’t stand you and you still can’t stand me. And this is just sex right? Blowing off steam?” he raised his eyebrows questioningly at Robbe.

“Right,” the word faded into a quiet whisper.

Sander threw his arms inside his jacket too, looking in the mirror and shaking out his hair that looked as white as the fallen snow on a warm winter’s day. He tried to tame the damage to the strands accredited to Robbe’s hands themselves, but there was no way to hide the glow of aftersex soaked upon his face. And maybe still inside his pants.

“So, then what's there to talk about?” he shrugged.

And Robbe felt the sting. He felt the jab. 

_Yep, Sander Driesen was a fucking enigma alright._

He was thinking maybe somewhere in there was the Sander he came to know and that if all this was becoming a habit then maybe…no, he didn’t know what he was thinking at all.

“Yeah,” he let out coolly. “Yeah, no, you’re right. Forget it. Forget I said anything.”

Sanders still eyed the mirror, straightening his jacket now and once he was feeling satisfied with making him look as presentable as he could, he turned to look at Robbe with an expression he couldn’t comprehend. His eyes and lips all carried the biggest hint that a tease was about to fall out of his mouth. 

“Besides,” he smirked, reaching up to thumb Robbe’s bottom lip, soft and supple and swollen. His eyes darted down to where he touched him and Robbe was sure he wasn’t breathing. “You say _plenty_ during all of this. You might’ve even screamed it,” his tiny laugh shimmered in his ears. 

Then, as he shook his head, still smiling and silently laughing, Sander left him with some mystified feeling pulling and tightening inside his chest. 

* * *

Robbe was fucking exhausted sitting here at this party. 

He wasn’t even sitting on a couch, instead opting for the floor in front of it where he could just disappear in the liquid contamination of his whiskey. It didn’t help that he’d had three midterms not to mention exams coming up, the stress pooling in his shoulders and neck, threatening to make his back cave in. But he just couldn’t be bothered to care about it now, sipping slowly as he sunk further down. 

“I win,” he heard a gravelly voice. 

Looking up he saw the last person he needed to see right now and not even the appeal of sex could quake him out of his misery. He scoffed at him, getting up quickly to some secluded corner of the house as Sander followed him with his drink - gin and tonic, he remembered, the worst fucking taste to Robbe. 

“You know, my goal in life is to see you miserable and I think I’ve just achieved it,” Sander continued, his lips tilted upwards. He tipped his drink at him, the leather of his jacket wrinkling with the movement. 

Robbe looked at him, hair changing neons in the makeshift lighting at this house, sunken in cheeks and his green eyes looking so dark and eternally tired, even behind the spark they held. He was probably swamped with assignments and deadlines too, making his escape to this party as a way to cope. The music dwelled in the back and Robbe could only take another sip before letting out a complacent laugh. 

“Well, you’re forgetting one thing: you look _just_ as miserable as I am.”

He saw something flash across Sander’s face and he couldn’t put an emotion to it. Something like defeat, something like admittance, something softening in his eyes. 

“So, about that conversation…” he ignored Robbe’s remark. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?

“No. Let’s have it,” he said with some resolve in his voice. Then, his eyes dipped down to the distance between them, his lips turning into a smile. “Come closer, I don’t bite.” 

Robbe had a lot of responses to that in his head. 

_That’s a lie and we both know it._

_That’s not what the marks on my neck say._

_Pretty sure that’s what you like._

Instead he squinted his dark eyes and said, “No, you just spew poison.”

He shoved a hand in the pocket of his olive green pants while Sander sipped his drink, mouth plastered to the cup. His eyebrows scrunched momentarily as he gulped the taste.

“See, this is exactly why I didn’t wanna have a conversation with you. You can be so impossible,” said Sander, glancing off to the side, mild annoyance in him. It made Robbe’s blood want to boil. He took that step closer, hand out of pocket now, gesturing as he spoke.

“Do you even know how hard it is to talk to you? It’s always some fucking joke, some tease, or you just shut people out. You don’t even- you don’t even _think_ you just _do_.” He felt like he was going to burst and his voice shook as he tried to keep it level. He didn’t need a repeat of what happened the last time they’d thrown words at a party. 

“‘Cause it’s what best for Sander Driesen right? He always gets what he wants,” he added, his eyes fiery and glaring. He almost didn’t notice he’d closed the gap between them trying to get in his face. 

It could have been the alcohol heightening his bravado, but Robbe knew that Sander knew what he meant. There was no way to deny it when he walked around like he owned the fucking campus, when he charmed his way into everyone he met. When he charmed his way into...

Sander’s eyes shut tight as he shook his head slightly and turned to the side, his gaze distant.

“Do I really spew poison? Am I really that toxic? he abruptly turned back to him. Robbe tried to ignore how close his face was to him now. Tried to ignore the moisture of spit on his cheek as he said the next words. “Because if so” - his eyes blackened - “Then, you’re a hypocritical, self-righteous prick.”

Robbe didn’t know how to bite back the shock. That was real _rich_ coming from him. 

“What? How?”

“You think you’re so much better than me. You think you have such high morals, but at the end of the day you can’t get enough of me,” he said flippantly. He’d somehow crowded him up against the wall, a looming arm reaching out over him. His lips were just an inch away and Robbe wasn’t sure what his plans were anymore as Sander’s burning stare turned impish. “You still end up with my tongue in your mouth and your hand on my-“ 

“Oh, fuck you,” Robbe shot him a look, shaking his head, his lips fighting a bitter smile. Sander’s laugh had begun before he’d even said the words. 

“ _Exactly_ ,” he said, drinking whatever was left of his cup.

There was some odd energy in the air now. They’d both been too tired to continue this argument, heat building and simmering just as quickly as it came. And Robbe didn’t want to admit that that was partially because he hadn’t wanted it to escalate. Not tonight.

He was just too fucking tired tonight. 

Robbe could feel Sander’s breath in his face, cooling his cheeks flushed from the momentary anger. His mind was all fuzzy from the whiskey and he was quite certain that Sander was having some tipsy moment of his own as he swayed into him. He felt so fucking intoxicating it was unreal. And it wasn’t until Sander’s fingers had found their way under his black shirt to the edge of his pants and sunk into the elastic of his briefs that Robbe felt a churning low in his stomach. 

“You know what we haven’t done in a while?” he heard him whisper into his ear, the wetness of his lips just at the lobe. Robbe could only sigh in response. “We haven’t done it in a bed for _ages_ ,” Sander took the skin between his teeth and Robbe closed his eyes, felt them rolling back into his head so hard, he saw blinding white static. 

“My roommates are out,” he managed to get out and while he’d let out a chuckle, his chest was still constricting at the words tossed at him. _Hypocritical_. Because Sander was right. He was fucking right and he hated it. As much he’d wanted to be mad at him, at the end of the day, he was still here entangled and intertwined with him.

Then suddenly Sander kissed him. Hard. 

And Robbe couldn’t care about how right or wrong he was. All he could think about was how soft, how comfortable, how _good_ the bed at his apartment sounded right now.

* * *

Their heavy breaths diffused throughout the disorganized room. 

“Fuck, a bed is so much better,” Sander panted as he rolled off of Robbe and plopped into the sheets next to him. 

“I still can’t feel my legs,” Robbe stared at the ceiling, his breath dissipating with each word.

“That’s your problem,” said Sander, a snort escaping as he reeled from the smack he received just then. 

Actually, Robbe had more problems than he could count because as he stared at the ceiling trying to get his heart rate to lower, he couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened. He was used to the rough sex, he enjoyed it even, but this was something so utterly _different, so bare and raw_ that he couldn’t believe it. 

They had been a mess of limbs and glistening sweaty skin. They had been breathy pants into each other’s mouth and tongues tracing bottom lips. They had been sighs of

‘Fuck you’re so hot’

‘Fuck’

And the practically comedic 

‘Fuck, I hate you’

‘I hate you more’

They had been mixed and mingled and sloppy and woven in each other exactly how they always had been. But then, somewhere in the roughness, in the brazen coarseness, Sander had pulled him closer. He’d pulled his hair every which way and then he’d loosened in grip in a caress. He’d moved swiftly and quickly and then he’d slowed the pace. But most of all, he’d taken his hands, interlacing his fingers through the spaces and he’d held on tightly. He’d held and held and Robbe wasn’t sure he’d ever been held before. 

It was something so sincere it almost broke him. Made him think that maybe the valves had stopped pumping in his heart, that the skies have turned green, that flowers had bloomed inside of his chest instead of sprouting in the earthy soil. It was a brief uncovering of Sander and his mask. And it was something he didn’t know if he could go through wishing it would last again. 

A soft buzzing had sounded tearing Robbe from his thoughts and he turned his head on the pillow to see that it was Sander’s phone resting on his bedside table. He felt him lean over him, sticky sweat from his skin clinging to Robbe’s chest as he took it. Sander looked at the screen and fiddled around on it for a bit, replying to texts and checking certain apps. Then, once he’d finished, he leaned back over to ungracefully lay it back on the table, the hard material clacking on the wood. 

“What’s this?” he asked. But Robbe wasn’t sure what he was talking about as he’d only been some obstacle for Sander to climb over this whole time, blocking his vision. Fucking asshole.

“What?”

“This,” Sander laid back down beside him, holding out a napkin. 

Robbe was still confused as he couldn’t see what was etched on it clearly, but then suddenly all the nerves in his system jolted and he felt a rush within him. He quickly tried to grab it from his fingers but Sander was faster, pulling it away from him and holding it high. If the glare Robbe gave him wasn’t deathly, the grip on his arm definitely was. 

“Sander, give it back,” he said. 

“Not until you tell me what _this_ has been doing just sitting in your room for unsuspecting strangers to see,” Sander smirked at him. Robbe now gave him a look, tucking his neck in and waiting for him to let this go. But when Sander didn’t want to seem to do that, he let out a long sigh.

“I was cleaning out the bedside table and I found the napkin you gave me and then I just kinda left it there and forgot about it, okay? Is that what you wanna hear, asshole?” his voice lowered facetiously. 

He settled back down in the bed while Sander looked at the drawing made back then in some cheap ballpoint pen. It was of the two of them, their faces smiling and happy. A remnant for their days at the coffee shop, a time Robbe couldn’t believe existed anymore. 

He was surprised to hear him say, “I’m glad you kept it.” Sander chewed on his thumbnail inspecting the paper cloth a bit more. “Though you know what I’m thinking now?”

“Hmmm,” was all Robbe could say, basking in the warm skin of his shoulder on his. 

“That _now,_ if I were to draw one of these, I’d just fill it up with dicks,” his snort engulfed his laugh and Robbe was thinking that was a sound he could get used to. He giggled next to him, smacking his arm again. Then, he looked at the sketch how Sander was probably looking at it: with fondness and memories that were wrapped up in treasured sweets found in confectioneries and honey-glazed glimpses of the past. And laying here with Sander when he was like this, soft and open and healing, it could have been a glimpse of their future, too. 

In some unexpected connection of neurons, a thought, or rather another memory of their conversation earlier, crossed Robbe’s mind.

“Sander,” he said, his voice barely audible in the pin-drop silence. He hummed in response. “You’re not toxic. I...I didn’t mean it like that.”

There was an excruciatingly long wait before he got an answer.

“How did you mean it?”

He had meant that Sander had started all of this which lead Robbe’s blood to run cold which made him spew all the hate back. It was some cycle he didn’t know how to break. And in the end he _still_ didn’t know why Sander did it. He wondered if he’d ever get that explanation. If there even was one. He swallowed, his eyes flicking to the ceiling darting across the pattern above. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said.

Sander seemed to accept that as he propped himself up on an elbow and gave him a shit-eating grin.

“You’re still a self-righteous prick,” he said.

The “fuck you” came out in a whisper barely audible caught in Robbe’s smile, his lips stretched thin as his lashes fanned the delicate skin under his eyes.

“Okay, give it back now,” he reached over to take the napkin. 

Sander’s smirk, however, meant he had other plans, not allowing him to get it. This lead to some of the most uncoordinated and chaotic fits of wrestling that had Sander pinned underneath Robbe somehow and suddenly the world stopped turning for both of them. The slight gasps that escaped them as their eyes looked into each other was only an indication of the tension between them.

Sander decided to break it, heaving Robbe off of him. 

He sat up near the edge of the bed and something heavy washed over the room. Robbe saw him place his elbows on his knees, his head hanging. He wasn’t sure if he was going to leave immediately like he did at his place the very last time they did this. Some wretched feeling twisted in Robbe’s gut and he couldn’t stand seeing him like that. 

“Sander, it’s 4am just…” he started. “Just fucking stay,” the last word came out in a broken whisper. 

Slowly, and to the complete opposite pace of Robbe’s heart, he crawled back into the sheets. Words weren’t exchanged anymore, but the entire time before he finally found the comfort and ease to fall asleep, Robbe wondered if Sander was going to be able to get any. And then his eyes finally blinked the last remaining efforts of vision into soundless slumber.

* * *

When he woke, it was to an empty bed. He expected no more, no more less. It was just how it was going to be. It was just how it was. They weren’t friends or lovers or anything resembling a relationship of any kind, but _God_ , did Robbe wake up with the ache in his chest of wanting one. Wanting it with him. 

He wasn’t ready to admit it. Any of it. But even a fool could see he’d been feeling this for quite some time now. 

And the funny thing about feelings, is that sometimes, they just don’t go away.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> brenna and cat i still blame you wholeheartedly for this alskfs and thank you aewb! 
> 
> thank you to all for reading! and let me know what you think (cuz im very nervous sdlfd) <3333
> 
> and ofc stay tuned for the next three chapters also written by very talented writers!!
> 
> [the napkin bit inspired by ivy_seas]


End file.
